


Breakout

by CavannaRose



Series: Harley Quinn Fics [10]
Category: Batman: The Animated Series, Harley Quinn (Comics)
Genre: Domestic Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Escape, Explosions, Gen, Prison, Revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-07-15 10:50:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 16,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7219468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tired of being locked up, Harls makes a break for it, and she is not happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The red rubber ball consistently bounced against the cold grey wall of the prison. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Sixty-four days of abject boredom were taking their toll. Patrolling the hall, an increasingly agitated guard swore under his breath. Where had the bloody blonde psycho even acquired the toy? He moved faster along the rows of surly inmates, pulling back the little window on the woman's cell door. She crouched on the edge of the sagging cot like a gargoyle, head turned so that she could see if anyone came her way. At the sight of the guard's eye at the door she grinned.

"Mornin' Mistah! Catch!" She whipped her toy at him, and then rolled herself in the mattress defensively. The small projectile hurled through the opening, pegging the unsuspecting man right in the eye, before exploding with a quiet 'whuff' sound. The door blew open, hanging limply on it's hinges. Smiling wider, the jester unfurled herself from the thin mattress and skipped towards the door, pausing to examine the bloody remains of the guard's head with a morbid curiousity.

"Well that's just gross." She giggled, wiping her hand off on his uniform and fetching the keys from his belt. She paused to fix her hair, and then skipped down the aisle towards the door. "If Mistah J won't come break me out, I'm not sittin' around here an' waitin' fah him. This gal has things to do."

One by one she paused at each and every cell door, peeking inside before opening it up to release the prisoner. The more of them out and about, the more likely one slender lady would be able to slink away unnoticed. She paused at the heavily reinforced door at the end of the row. "Now Crockie, you gotta promise if I letcha out ya won't eat me." She scolded through the grate. The large man glared balefully back out at her. "Hey! I didn' say ya couldn't eat anyone, just not me!"

After a long moment, the oversized creature nodded once, and Harley squealed with glee, turning the key and releasing him out into the general population. Someone had gotten the door into the main prison open, and Arkham's fiends and psycopaths were fleeing the hall towards the high walls that surrounded the compound. Waving goodbye to Croc's lumbering back, Harls actually moved into his cell, shuddering at the filmy feeling of the water covering half his floor. Despite the foul stench coming off it, she waded in until she was hip deep, and then dove down. Feeling against the wall blindly, she found what she was looking for. With a little maneuvering, one of the bricks wiggled completely free of it's mortar, slowly dropping to the bottom of Croc's little wading pool.

Harley came up, gasping for air with a triumphant grin on her face. She looked around, but everyone was running for exits, not checking up on open cells. She took a deep breath and dove under once more, fingers latching on to the opening quickly. If she had been any broader, or even a smidge less flexible, this probably wouldn't work, but she wriggled and oozed her way through the hole, dragging herself along a humming drainage pipe. Perhaps she hadn't thought it through as thoroughly as she could have, because by the time she breached the surface again her lungs were burning and she was lightheaded, but she had made it. The gymnast stared out across Gotham triumphantly. She was out.

Dropping to the ground in a neat tumbling maneuver, she dashed into the night. Harley Quinn was back on the loose, and Gotham was going to feel her irritation at the length of her incarceration. Not just the police and vigilantes that kept her behind those creepy walls, but a certain green haired clown was going to experience the deep displeasure she felt at having been abandoned for so long. She hadn't even left him in there when she was a psychiatrist and he was an inmate, but apparently the big jerk wasn't up to returning the favour. Fine. She'd show him. She'd show them all.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a few days since her breakout. Harleen had needed them for plotting, and for gathering supplies. News of her escape had finally been leaked to the press, by her of course. Arkham liked to try to keep a lid on the fact that it's inmates came and went as if the place had revolving doors installed in the back. She was ready for her big freedom celebration, her welcome back to Gotham shindig. Admittedly, doing it without Mister J felt almost wrong, but she smiled grimly at her reflection as she applied the thick white makeup to her face. Hadn't the clown spent their entire 'relationship' teaching her that things which felt wrong were a construct of the broken society they lived in? Had he not encouraged, if a word that gentle was appropriate, her to indulge in such things for the sensation alone?

Well his words were about to but him right smack dab in that (admittedly cute) pasty butt. Makeup perfect, hair in it's customary pigtails, she considered the hat that usually complimented the skintight harlequin gymnastics leotard., but in the end she settled against it. Part of her felt that it was just too much of HIM, and for once, tonight was going to be all about her. Grinning broadly she took a last spin around her apartment, stopping at the bedroom to pick up her trusty mallet.

It had been nice to know that her lease hadn't expired while she was incarcerated. She'd have to get the landlord some kind of thank you gift. Over her years at J's side it had been nice to have a place to get away when he was in one of his moods. This had been her refuge, her second home, and something that was just hers. Heck, he had paid so little attention there was a good chance the madman didn't even know where it was.

In the living room she pulled a pair of pistols off the wall, loading one with real bullets, and the other with her BANG! flag, before tucking them into her waistband. She paused in front of the mirror one last time, checking the line of the outfit, and switched to a belt with holsters. Sure it wasn't the norm, but who cared about that dopey clown's aesthetic anymore, really? She was a free bird damnit. Her high pitched giggle filled the air as excitement filled her veins. She was ready, time to do this!

Not one to avoid making a mess in her own backyard, it was a relatively short drive in the stolen vehicle to the place she'd selected for her big comeback heist. She hadn't even crashed into more than four other cars on the way over! Well... maybe five, but motorcycles didn't really count, even if they were being driven on the road. It was a new record for sure, not that there was anyone there to see it. Even that knowledge couldn't quell her gleeful enthusiasm, though it did temper it with another dose of determination. She'd show HIM. She would!

Harls hopped from the car, mallet braced on her shoulder, grinning up at the giant chain toy store. Word on the street said that it was being rented out today for some rich brat's birthday. What could be more perfect? If anything, her penniless background made this particular gig that much sweeter. One in the eye of all those snobby jerks that had looked down on her. She sashayed up to the now alert security guards, banished to door duty while the higher paid body guards were inside. Her eyes narrowed at the ear pieces and the still holstered guns, but the fellas hadn't even gone for their weapons yet, a clear sign that they were not used to carrying.

She'd gotten much closer to them than she should have before either of them reached for their sidearms. How boring. With a heavy sigh Harls pulled out one of her own pistols, bringing it to bear square at the middle of the older guard's foreheads before either had unclipped their holsters even. "Now fellas, how's about y'all be gentlemen an' get th'door for a lady? Hmmm?" Harley batted her lashes and then darted her brilliant blue gaze over to the younger bloke. She narrowed her eyes, cocking the hammer on her pistol. "If ya go for tha' ear piece, fella, we'll all get ta see how ya look in grey matter, fershtay?"

Nervous now, the rookie looked to his older counterpart for guidance. Poor shmuck was probably on his first job. It was beautiful, though, the moment they both decided they didn't make enough money to face down the crazy clown princess with her guns and her oversized carnival mallet. At a nod from his superior, the younger man inched back to open the door behind the pair of them. Harls graced the fella with her broadest smile, blowing him a little kiss in gratitude.

"Adank. Lovely." She giggled, thrilled to her little booted toes that such big and imposing looking men were doing what she said. What a rush, being the boss for once."Now, how about ya both take those guns of yours and slide 'em through the open door? Ya won't be needin' them tanight, aftah all." She skipped closer, tamping down the giggles so as not to terrifying the two blokes that bad, but couldn't resist running the muzzle of the gun along the older guard's sleeve. "Now, I betcha boys got somethin' fun like handcuffs on ya', don'tcha?"

Spurred on by either bravery or terror, they grey-haired guard tentatively tried to reason with her. "Listen miss-"

"NO!" She interrupted, the force and anger in her voice immediately mediated by a pleasant smile. Her voice turned sweet, like syrup poured over steel. "Now fellas, I'm the boss here tanight and I'm tryin' real hard ta be patient. How's about we show me them cuffs?" To accentuate her point, she dug the barrel of the gun into the senior man's forehead, just a little. For effect.

Hands shaking, the guards produced their handcuffs, and Harls leaned forward to place an overly affectionate smooch on the younger one's cheek. "Good. Now grandpa, ya can have yaself a seat an' Juniah here will cuff ya nice and tight." She giggled again as her instructions were carried out, skipping closer and watching with wide blue eyes. "Now Juniah, sit yaself nice an' close behind him, hands touchin' no need ta be shy!" Once she'd cuffed him, threading the cuffs through his older compatriot's to bind them together, she gave each another smooch, leaving smeared lipstick kiss marks on each of their cheeks.

The first level of security defeated, she patted their heads and bounced through the open doors, stooping to pick up their weapons and neatly tucking them inside a pair of toy displays. You know, out of harm's way. She paused, listening for the sounds of spoiled ranting to locate the wealthy young shopper and his entourage. It didn't take her long to narrow down their location, somewhere over by electronics she believed. She as skipping in that direction when she caught sight of the most adorably hideous little rubber rat, tucking it into her cleavage and patting it's head. "You? You can come with me!"

Gun holstered and mallet at the ready, she crept along the aisles, peeking around the corner before jumping out behind the last body guard as the little group passed her, leg flying at his temple in an impressive kick flip. As the other bodyguard, the kid, and the kid's keeper whirled to look at her in horror, she struck a dramatic pose, one dainty boot on the fallen guard's throat and a big old grin on her face. "Tadaaa! Welcome ta Harley time! Whatcha up ta today, folks?"

She giggled as the second bodyguard dove in front of his young charge, gun at the ready. "Aw now, don't be like that! I'm jus' here bein' friendly!" She blew a kiss over the armed guard's shoulder at the kid's keeper, taking a step forward.

"Ma'am, I'm going to have to insist yo-" Whatever he was going to say next was cut off by a pained scream. The trouble with naturally good people, they always give a warning, and some folks are just bound to take advantage of that. Harley's mallet had crashed into his gun hand, sending the weapon flying and shattering a few bones as well.

"Hush tha' talk, me mum's ma'am, not li'l old me, silly boy." She smiled, tipping his chin up with her mallet and examining him curiously. "Now, are we gonna play nice, or am I gonna have ta put ya ta sleep like ya buddy over there? Hmm?" His surprisingly pretty green eyes flickered to his unconscious companion, then trailed down to where his partner's gun was lying. She followed his look and shook her head sadly. "Now see, ya had ta go an' ruin it." With a mighty swing she sent him off to dreamland to join the other guard.

That only left the brat and his keeper, who was desperately pulling wads of cash from his wallet. "Look, lady, I don't... take it! Take it all. Just leave the kid alone, all right?" The nervous nanny held tight to the now crying child's hand. She'd never seen a dude as a nanny before, but the brat's tears tugged at her heart strings.

"I'll cut ya a deal, you gimme that cash, an' then do what I say, and I'll not lay a hand in violence on eithah of ya. Fun meyn moyl tsu got's aoyern." Perhaps the gentleman didn't know whether to believe her or not, but he certainly wasn't up to arguing with the crazy harlequin. Money tucked away safely, she soon had the crying child and his keeper trussed up neatly with their unconscious guards, including the two from the door, in an elaborate tableau within a life sized dollhouse. Smiling at her handiwork, she blew the conscious nanny and his charge kisses goodbye and skipped out. Today had been a fun little distraction.


	3. Chapter 3

Back to square one… again. The number of his plans being foiled by _Batman_ was getting up into double digits, and _that_ was no laughing matter, none at all. He needed something to tip the scales in his favour, a distraction for Batman. He needed Harley. She always was an excellent distraction when it worked in his favour. The kid had gone and gotten herself locked up in Arkham though, and breaking her back out again wasn’t very high on his list of priorities, especially since that was right where Batman had planned to take him back to…. _if_ he got the chance and Joker wasn’t about to offer it to him on a silver platter.   
  
Harley had known the plan; it wasn’t _his_ fault she’d gotten herself caught, why should he be the one to help her escape again? In realizing he’d needed a distraction, Joker had managed to get distracted himself from the task at hand; the newest plan, the latest plot, but that just managed to bring everything full circle. With Harley locked up, he needed a new distraction, and Batman had gotten savvy to his recent antics, they were old news, stale jokes, simply wouldn’t do anymore. He huffed in frustration slamming his hands down on the table top before getting to his feet. “It has to be fool proof” he muttered to himself, pacing back and forth across the floor, hands collapsed behind his back “Something he would never expect….”   
  
_“It’s still unknown exactly **how** the former intern had managed to escape from the confines for her cell-….”_   Joker stopped mid-stride, head snapping up as the newscaster behind the small screen continued.  _“…..thankfully no one was fatally injured in this afternoon’s attack.”_   
  
“Real pity…” Joker muttered to himself as a photo of Harley in all her Harlequin glory was put on screen. He tuned the monotone voice back out again, returning to his own thoughts. Not only had she managed to _escape_ from under the noses of those absolute fools, as foolish as they were, they had their moments of clarity… but she’d managed to pull off a heist as well… without his expertise for guidance!   
  
While it _was_ impressive, she had some serious explaining to do; why hadn’t she come straight to him once she was free? Why hadn’t anyone been hurt? After all he had taught her, and not even _one_ fatality?   
  
Disappointing.  
  
Infuriating.   
  
What could have _possibly_ made her think she could pull off something so… high profile, _without_ him?? No way was he about to go chasing after her though, he wasn’t one to chase… If Harley Quinn knew what was good for her, she would come back. It was in her best interests really, she had gotten by this afternoon, escaped even, and everything else thus far on nothing but sheer luck, the sheer dumb luck of it all was the reason she hadn’t been thrown back into that god forsaken place.  
  
If she wanted to _stay_ out, she’d be back… and she would have no choice _but_ to explain.   
  
He would just simply have to wait

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Still high off her victory at the toy store, Harley took a few days to celebrate. After a sugar-bender of licorice whips and gummy bears for three meals straight, she was starting to feel lonely in her little apartment. You could only crank the bubblegum pop music so loud before the neighbours were banging on the walls and demanding you 'Turn that shit down'. She sat at her table, spooning some sugary cereal her Ma could never afford to buy them growing up, sprinkled with extra chocolate chips, into her mouth, ignoring the slight stomach ache she seemed to have developed.

There were a few things she could do to alleviate the loneliness, she supposed. She wasn't going back to J. No way, no how. It was his stupid plan that got her locked up in the first place, and the jerk hadn't even tried to get her back out. She considered dropping in on Ivy or Selina, but.... well... If she was honest the gals weren't really much nicer to her than J was. They also didn't like unexpected visitors. What she needed was some nice friends. Someone who would always be happy to see her.

So.... Since a few days had passed since her little heist, she slipped into the harlequin costume once more. With each stroke of the face paint she smiled broader, more determined. J didn't care if she was in prison or not? Fine. Originally she'd thought maybe she'd let him stew for a few days and then go back, but she hadn't heard hide nor hair of the putz since her escape. Forget him. She was tough and independent, she'd find her own partner and replace him.

Done up and geared up, she pranced down the streets of Gotham, giggling and demonstrating her gymnastic abilities by flipping around telephone poles and cartwheeling along like a Tumble Time Tigger toy. There at the end of her street was today's goal. She burst in the front door, over-sized pistol in hand and grinned cheerfully at the shop clerk and few patrons. "Gooooood morning, Gotham! What brings ya here on this fine day?"

Giggling she bounces in, landing beside a lady with her son's hand clutched in fingers gone white. She patted the lady on her cheek. "Ya best take the bubbeleh out of here, miss. I expect tha' gentleman behind th'countah is gonna wanna argue wit' me." She smiled as the lady, face relieved, scampered outside with her son in hand, leaving only the clerk and one other shopper. She sidled up to the middle aged man who stood clutching a baggie of fish food. "Wrong day ta visit the pet shop, neh? ... BOO!" She laughed hysterically as he jumped, dropping the pellets so that they scattered all over the floor.

"Oh come now, don't be a shmendrik. I'm just here lookin' fah donations." Immediately the clerk opened the cash and started gathering up the bills. Like a shot she was in front of him, one gloved hand over his, a frown on her face. "No no no, keep ya cash. I'm lookin' fah some playmates today." She stepped away, spinning delightedly as she gestures around. "I think mah adventures need some fuzzy companions. Everyone deserves a pet, dontcha think? I was nevah allowed ta have one growin' up... too expensive. So ya don't mind givin' me one or two, do ya mistah?"

The young man gulped, shaking his head, and Harley batted her eyelashes at her captive audience. "How's about ya two go sit tagether on tha floor in front o' the countah while I do my shoppin', okay?" She was playful, but there was definitely a stern note in her voice. Just like her first heist, the men practically stumbled over eachother to do what she said. She was powerful. She was in charge. Her crazy giggle echoed in the small store as she bounced from cage to cage, examining the contents. She cooed over the fluffy critters, finally settling on a rabbit, two kittens, a puppy and a duck.

Her new friends bustled away in carriers she dances back over to the clerk and the shopper. "Ya boys have been a gas, but I gotta run. No tattling, okay?" Giggling again she left big lipstick kisses on each of their cheeks and raced home, excited to get her new friends settled in. Unlike a certain green-haired jerk, these little guys would love her. She just knew it.


	4. Chapter 4

… No sign yet of HIS Jester.  
  
Joker let out another huff of anger as he flipped off the TV set, it had been _days_ since that little brat had escaped and had he heard a peep?? NO, not _one_. She was pressing her luck and the longer she made him wait the worse off she would be, he would make sure of that. Her latest escapade had been to a pet store… what on god’s green earth would she need to go to a damn pet store for?! Again, no one had been injured…  
  
Her escape skills were those to be rivalled, but her heists however had something to be desired… desperately. Still though, he refused to go after her, not yet… She was getting dangerously close to forcing him out of hiding, jeopardizing his reputation the way she had and if he had to come after her, she was going to be one sad sorry little clown. Another huff from his nose as he wrestled with the idea of going after her anyway, god knows where she’d hit next, with his luck, a candy store or something else juvenile of that sort.

If he didn’t set her straight she’d _never_ learn, and that could mean his career, he’d be the laughing stock of Gotham. He couldn’t have that, not at all. Fingers of his left hand tapping idly on the table’s flat surface, chin resting in the palm of his right he mused. He needed to think logically.   
  
He had been able to keep tabs on her via the newscasts over the past couple of days, she had been nothing more than a nuisance to the residents of this abominable city, nothing he couldn’t fix with one good plan; going after her was a less desired option, but even _he_ had to admit, no matter how many times he’d worked and reworked those god forsaken plans, he couldn’t come up with a distraction good enough, not one that had been done before, not one that he could slip past old Bats.   
Not one without _her_ , much to his chagrin. He’d _always_ been able to pull of plans on his own.   
  
“You’re losing your edge old man” he muttered to himself, the empty room offering silence as its condolences. On the plus side of this disastrous mess, if he’d worked her into his latest plan, which still had yet to be put on paper, it would create an opportunity for his escape if such a thing was needed. Old Batsy was swift on his feet, but not swift enough to catch them both; he’d proven that much when he’d slipped out from under the nose of that caped lunatic the last time. Maybe he didn’t need her, one more pass at the plans maybe… Maybe there was a scenario he hadn’t thought of, one that didn’t _have_ to include her.   
  
In a perfect world.   
  
And much to his misfortune, Gotham was _far_ from perfect; all the fools running around thinking _they_ knew what was best, thinking they knew what they were doing.   
  
Ridiculous.   
  
And with her recent antics, Miss Quinn was quickly working her way up the ranks of the fools. The kid had lost her way, and he couldn’t possibly just strut out on the streets of Gotham and….”help” her find her way again; he was a wanted man for crying out loud. He’d have to outsmart them…every last one.   
  
She had a small apartment on the other side of the city, nothing close, that would be far too convenient for him, of course she had to choose a place so far out of the way it might as well be in China. She thought she was smart, thought she could pull the wool over his eyes, pull a fast one; in her naïve little mind he’d had no clue about her little hide out. To the contrary, she wasn’t very good about keeping things private; she might as well have had a neon sign that said “Find me here” but he let her live in her little fantasy, thinking she could keep secrets from him, letting her believe he hadn’t had a clue. Boy was she in for a rude awakening. Making _him_ come to _her_. The audacity. Unfortunately, his twenty third pass over his _best_ laid plains, couldn’t be pulled off without her as a distraction… not unless he wanted to go back to the cell with his name on it.  
  
“You best be ready to beg for forgiveness, sweets” He muttered snatching a set of car keys he didn’t recognize off the table, he couldn’t very well take his car, too well known; he’d “borrowed” this particular set off some punk kid with a bad haircut from up the street. The car itself was parked half a block from his hideout. Not a very flattering automobile in his humble opinion, but it would get him from point A to B and back again and had plenty of room for grovelling.  
  
The clunker rolled to a stop in front of the tiny building, his eyes trained on the window he knew to be hers; dark, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t inside. She was a strange sort, liked to gallivant around in the dark from time to time… she _was_ mad after all. For now, he simply sat and watched.  
  
Waited.

 

*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*

 

A rabbit, two kittens, a puppy and a duck. What had she been thinking? The puppy had gotten way too excited, shaking the duck until it stopped quacking. One of the kittens had gone out a window she'd forgotten to close, never to be seen again... and she wasn't exactly sure where the rabbit had ended up. The other kitten and the puppy? Well... Let's just say the harlequin's diet of potato chips, soda and candy didn't translate well into animal feed. Though she mourned the loss, she hadn't gotten that attached to the critters yet, hadn't even gotten around to naming them, so after about a day she was over it.

They'd been cute, but they just didn't have His ... bite. She needed a hardier pet. Something bigger, better.... like a hyena. She'd seen them at the zoo once. Now there was a pet a girl could really cozy up to! Even He couldn't complain about something so ugly and mean and utterly adorable. Tabling that thought for later, she stared around her messy apartment, a pout of concentration on her face. As much as she might deny it, she missed J. He'd become an integral part of her life.

Oh sure they'd tried to kill one another here and there, and He'd left her to rot away in that infernal madhouse like some... some second rate hench wench! She let her thoughts derail, forgetting the ache in her heart as she ramped up the anger and irritation. Let it really soak into her skin. He never treated her with the love she darn well deserved, the snake. There was no point in being mad at J, He'd probably just laugh in her darn face if He knew it, or twist it all around until up was down, right was wrong, and she was apologizing. There wasn't going to be any more grovelling for this jester, no way no how.

What she needed was a distraction... and more candy. In a whiplash-inducing emotional gear shift, she gave a delighted giggle and went rooting around in the couch cushions for her harlequin leotard. Tugging it on she stumbled excitedly into the bathroom, staring at the thick white makeup for a moment. Nose turning up defiantly she swept it into the garbage, instead simply grabbing the domino mask and carefully applying it to her face. First the hat, now the makeup, bit by bit she was stripping His influence from her wardrobe. It's not like folks didn't know who she was after all.

Again thoughts of Him were clambering for her attention, so she tightened her pigtails, making them perky and perfect, before bounding out into the fresh afternoon air, a ridiculously oversized bazooka braced against her shoulder. She liked to call him Sven. Her target was a big, classic styled confectionery just downtown. She made her way there in another "borrowed" car, not even causing an accident on the way! Well... maybe just the one, but i was totally the other car's fault for not knowing she was going to turn left across three lanes on a red light. She arrived downtown in record time, parking expertly atop a very expensive looking motorcycle.

The doors of the Shoppe burst open, revealing a bright, smiling Harley Quinn, framed by the fading afternoon light almost perfectly. "Hiya folks! I'm just here fah some donations to tha emancipated jestah program. I ain't here fah ya jewels or phones or money, I just need ya all ta help me fill these bags with goodies and I'll be right outta your hair! No funny business though, folks, cuz it makes Sven cranky." She patted the bazooka affectionately like a prized pet.

The handful of patrons, most in their mid-to-late teens, huddled together on the far side of the store while Harls coerced the cashier to aid her in filling her ridiculous Santa-style sack with all kinds of sugar coated nonsense. One cheeky young man tried to surreptitiously snap a picture of the infamous clown princess with his phone. The former psychiatrist was far more observant than most folks gave her credit for, though. Her bright red lips split into a brilliant smile. "Pitchahs? Ya just had ta ask, handsome!"

Giving the cashier a stern warning to continue filling her bag with goodies, but none of that gross black licorice garbage, she danced across the store to where the teens were pretending they weren't scared shitless. Harley flung a friendly arm across the kid's shoulder, pulling him in close while deftly divesting him of his phone. She held it up at the ideal selfie angle with a big grin. "Now make sure ya smile, mistah, this ain't a every day kinda thing!" With that gleeful declaration she placed a loud, wet kiss on his cheek, snapping a photo to immortalize the event. Giggling at the starstruck teen, she handed him back the phone, admiring the clear lipstick print on his cheek.

All in all, it was a gig well pulled, in her opinion. Gathering up her packages, she waved to the relieved, and unharmed, hostages, piling her 'donations' into the borrowed car just as sirens began to sound in the distance. Aw, and just when she thought they were all getting along so well! There was no trusting folks these days, and that was the God's honest truth.

She peeled off down the street, crashing through a newspaper stand and screeching down several back alleyways before she lost the blue and white tail. Finally it was safe and she could head back into Gotham towards her lonely little flat. Not lonely. Her Totally Fantastic Place of Independence from Stupid People Who Weren't Going To Be Named.

Pulling the car to a stop in the lobby of the building across the street, she kicked open the door and gathered up all her goodies. During the drive she'd accessorized her outfit with a rather healthy amount of candy jewelry. Necklaces, bracelets, rings. She looked like a deranged Oompa Loompa escaping from the Wonka factory. For a moment she cursed the lack of foresight that meant she would be juggling all these delights into a dark apartment, but maybe next time she'd remember to leave a light on. She left the car unlocked, doors open and pranced away. Some street thug would soon make off with the evidence of her getaway vehicle, all's the better for her not having to worry about it. 

Humming a Christmas tune, despite the oppressive July heat, she pranced towards the front entryway, blissfully unaware of the observer in the absolutely atrocious little car just to her right. Her blood was buzzing with sugar, and she was feeling more than a little alive right now. This. This was perfection. It was what her life should be.


	5. Chapter 5

He sat still as a statue behind the wheel of the atrocious car he’d soon planned to torch; once it had finished serving him of his needs of course. He sat still, not to go unnoticed, or be unseen, but to concentrate on the bouncing blonde pigtails; the very pigtails that belonged to his little disobedient pet as she gathered up what looked like to be the loot of another one of her ridiculous candy store heists.   
  
This was getting ridiculous.   
  
But he didn’t move, just observed. She had left not long before, had it not been for the bazooka on her shoulder, he might have had to look twice.  She had done away with her hat, trading it for pigtails, and seemingly her make up too, opting to wear the mask he recognized, all on its own.  
  
Had she been trying to make something of herself? Without him? How dare she!  
  
If he hadn’t so generously taken her under his wing, she’d be _dead_. He would have seen to that himself. If he hadn’t so graciously _rescued_  her from the madness that was Arkham, they would have torn her to shreds, no pity, no remorse; that little blonde psychiatrist fresh from school didn’t stand a chance in such a place; he had done her a _favour_ , and _this_ was how she chose to repay him?? The kindled rage sparked a heat in the pit of his stomach he hadn’t felt in a good many months.   
  
“Ungrateful little brat” he muttered to himself, starting the engine to circle the block as she gleefully pranced past without so much as a clue.

Moments later, he stood in the middle of what he could only assume was her…. living area. Amidst all the clutter and chaos, he couldn’t really be sure, not that he particularly gave a shit one way or another anyway. How he’d managed to do so, and so very quickly, that would remain his little secret and his alone; but boy oh boy was she in for a surprise when she opened that door.  
  
He had debated on meeting her halfway up the stairs, if he knew Harley, and he most definitely did, she would be too immersed in her ridiculous amounts of loot to even notice him at all; she’d probably just prance right past. Instead, he would leave everything as she had, lights off, clothes, candy and god knows what else strewn about. As previously planned, he would simply wait.   
  
A quick glance around the room gave him just what he’d been searching for, a chair, in the corner of the room, almost completely obscured by darkness. By the time she turned on a light and realized not only had she been found, but by _who_ , just how sorry would she be that she’d made him come to her? It would be too late to run or hide, or whatever other little scheme she could try to cook up in that little blonde head of hers in the span of fifteen seconds. That’s all he would need to get his hands on her…

She was a clever woman, he’d learned that much from her days in the asylum, but just not clever enough; he’d proven that much when he’d coaxed her to work for him. It had taken a little more than with others, but just like the rest of them, eventually she caved, she became his to mould and shape into exactly what he’d needed her to be. He was confident it wouldn’t take much to sway her again, just a simple stumble off the path, one he hadn’t been too keen about, but this time it would take hardly anything at all to fix her, he was sure of it. He chuckled softly to himself, sitting in the chair with legs crossed, arms folded across his chest, eyes trained on the door, and again, he waited.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

"Brightly shone the moon that night, though the frost was cruuuuu-ellllll...." Echoed down the empty hallway as Harleen hauled her goodies to the door. She paused her singing, bracing the bag between the door and her hip as she jangled her keys, trying to get the right one in the lock. Finally managing it, she laughed in satisfaction, stumbling forward to catch the bag as the door flung open. "AS A POOR MAN CAME IN SIGHT, GATH'RING WINTAH FUUUUU-EEEEEE-LLLLLL!" She warbled loudly, tripping and landing on her knees in a pile of discarded clothing, candy scattering everywhere.

A laugh of pure, unadulterated delight escaped the jester, her unpainted face nearly glowing with the joy of it all as she rolled across her messy floor and bounced to her feet. Somewhere in this little foray into independence she had found her inner happiness, recaptured that spark and energy she once had. Her recent years with J had dimmed it a bit, but you couldn't keep a gal like Harleen Francis Quinzel down for long.

She scooped up her bag of goodies, causing more treats to spill from the top as she sashayed over to the kitchen, placing the bag on the counter. There was a lightswitch around here somewhere.... She leaned over the counter, derriere in the air as she stretched for the switch, finally catching it with the ends of her fingers and flooding the disaster zone of an apartment with a soft white light.

Another giggle escaped her as she flipped herself over the counter to the other side, prancing about her kitchenette in glee, popping the big candy ring in her hand as she stood, one hand on her hip, legs shoulder width apart, studying the overflowing bag and her open cupboards. "I should prolly put all ya away... but I don' wanna, so I ain't!" She declared delightedly, clapping her hands and spinning in a circle. Plunging a hand into the bag she came out with a package of licorice whips and skipped back into the living room.

That's when she saw Him. Sitting there in her chair as if he had a right to be here, in her place. Righteous indignation bubbled up within the blonde. He hadn't sprung her from the joint, even though she had at least half a dozen times. What made the bounder think he could just make himself cozy, here in HER place, and give her those dark, threatening eyes?

They were pretty threatening though... A shiver went up Harley's spine, half terror and half anticipation. Oh she was one twisted little puppy all right, and it wasn't entirely the clown's fault. She had a fascination for the dark and dangerous that would have gotten her barred from working at Arkham if they had suspected it back in the day... back before he had sunk his claws in her.

Pasting a frown of her own on her face, standing tall with arms akimbo, she did her best to glare down at the malicious madman. It wasn't an easy feat, her 5'7 was still kind of dwarfed by his 6'5 frame, even when he was sitting down. It was hard to convey the appropriate amount of scorn when part of her wanted to flee in terror, and the other part of her wanted to fling her arms around the fiend's neck and smother his face with kisses. She actually took a step towards him, before stopping herself.

"M-Mistah J.... How'd ya... How'd ya know where ta find me?" Since she couldn't pull off intimidating, she tried for cool indifference, failing miserably at that as well. There was a quiver in her voice that all the acting in the world couldn't cover up, and a hint of longing too. Oh she was in for a bad time of it indeed, she could feel it in her bones. How long had he known about her little place? If he had known, why had he let her keep it? How pissed was he that she hadn't come back to the Madhouse as soon as she got out of Arkham?

These questions and a million others fluttered across her face like a flock of birds fleeing a farmer's field. The man in the neat purple suit had definitely gone from unnoticed to the focus of her attention. Harleen was on the balls of her feet, ready to make a dash for it as soon as he moved towards her. She may have been longing to see him, but she knew better than to let him catch hold of her without a fight, especially if he was as angry as he seemed to be.


	6. Chapter 6

Not moving, he sat unnoticed for a lot longer than he had expected or anticipated; she wasn’t one to typically pay attention to her surroundings so it wasn’t surprising in the least, but he wasn’t about to go and give himself away either. Contrary to popular belief he _could_ be a patient man… A mad one, but patient nonetheless; how long he chose to _stay_ patient… well that remained to be seen. Dark eyes watched her stumble around in the darkness over the clutter, spilling candy wherever she set foot. She made her way to the kitchen and still he went unnoticed; a sharp exhale through his nose, patience quickly wearing thin as the apartment flooded with light.  
  
" _I should prolly put all ya away... but I don' wanna, so I ain't!_ " he heard her declare from the kitchen. He rolled his eyes as she made her way back to the living room, eyes _finally_ falling on him. It took every ounce of everything he had in him not to spring from the chair and wring her neck. Instead, he sat…eyes trained on the tiny blonde, fighting to keep the smirk of satisfaction off his face as the colour drained from hers. Eyes stayed fixed on her as she stumbled some more, this time over her own words. A little surprised to see him he’d imagine. " _M-Mistah J.... How'd ya... How'd ya know where ta find me?_ " 

He simply dropped his hands in his lap, collapsed together before he spoke; low, even and calm. “Don’t be a fool, Harleen” he sighed “I have no tolerance for fools.” Rarely did he ever refer to her as Harleen, hell, he’d given her the name Harley… in his opinion. But some situations just called for such things, this being one of them. “You know running isn’t going to get you far,” he continued, voice still even, the bubbling rage in the pit of his stomach making him bite down hard on the inside of his cheek. She was expecting a rage fueled fit, he would give her no such satisfaction, watching her squirm in anticipation of said fit was just as equally satisfying. “So you might as well let your heels bare some of that weight, sweets.”   
  
He stood from the chair in a swift motion, as tall a man as he was, he was still fairly light on his feet, something he’d secretly prided himself on. Now standing to his full height, he towered over the small girl…woman…. he had to constantly remind himself, despite Harley’s small stature she was in fact a woman. “It doesn’t really _matter_ that I knew where to come and find you.” He answered closing the distance between them a little more “Point being I **HAD TO COME AND FIND YOU AT ALL**!”   
  
Before she had a chance to answer or even move, he circled around behind her; a lion with his prey, prey he had no doubts would try to flee, despite his warnings, they always tried to run…who was he to deny them that last sliver of hope? It just made his certain victory that much more rewarding. Harley _should_ know better, but she was stubborn…feisty…. he’d never admit such a thing, but she kept him on his toes and it was quite the thrill in itself. “On second thought….” He voiced aloud before bending forward, making sure to be close enough that his breath would tickle the fine hairs on the back of her neck, but far enough back so as not to actually _touch_ her; dropping his voice to a faint whisper “Run…see just how far you get.”

She had learned through long practice that once Mister J was in one of those moods, it was best to just let him get it all out, as hard as it might be. Sometimes she'd get real lucky and he'd be so full up from enjoying the sound of his own voice that he'd forget the original point... No such luck this time. Calling her scared right now would be an understatement. She was somewhere between peeing her pants and passing out altogether, but luckily she wasn't doing either... Yet.  
  
Standing again to his full height, stone still he spoke again, this time at a normal volume. “It won’t be far, I can _promise_ you that.” Again he didn’t wait for an answer from her; what she’d had to say didn’t really matter anyway; she wasn’t going to speak, she would listen, and if she knew what was good for her, she’d listen _well_.  
  
“I’m a reasonable man, Harley." As he spoke, he paced the small apartment, hands collapsed behind his back as he kicked obstacles from his path. She was frozen to her spot in fear, no harm in moving a bit. “Wouldn’t you say?” he asked, circling around to see the woman face on before taking a couple more strides. “No matter,” he shook his head “The only reason you’re standing upright is because I haven’t figured out what the fuck to do with you just yet.” Another seldom used word in his vocabulary, but again, one that seemed appropriate for the situation at hand.   
  
“Did you think I wouldn’t find you?” He asked moving to look out the window. “Did you think I would forgive and forget, Harley?” A swift turn on his heel put the cowering woman in his line of sight; he moved quickly, long strides across the apartment, closing in on her, giving her no choice but to back herself against the wall or collide with him herself. “ **DID YOU THINK YOU COULD ESCAPE AND I WOULDN’T FIND YOU**?!” Their faces now mere inches apart, “ **THOUGHT YOU COULD RUN AND I WOULDN’T DRAG YOU BACK BY YOUR LITTLE BLONDE PIGTAILS**!?”

He paced around her like some kind of ravenous beast. More than once she thought about interjecting, or even just answering, but each time she'd catch his eye with her own and subside back into the quivering pile of jelly he so often rendered her into. She had been a bold, brave, independent female once upon a time. Heck, she'd face down the Bats and any number of horrible things, but this man... This man she couldn't stand up to any more than a paper bag stood up to a thunderstorm.

It wouldn't be so bad, but he looked so darn tempting while he did it. Every inch of his outraged form was perfect. She'd honestly looked, and hard, but the madman was flawless. Smooth as marble, even his scars adding to the regal handsomeness of him. Of course... thinking on such things was not getting her out of this situation. It wasn't even making her less afraid, just distracting her for a few short moments. What she needed was to think... She needed an escape plan.

A sharp flick of the wrist and the back of his hand made contact with her right cheek. “ **WRONG**!” he yelled, hand now gripping her chin, giving her no choice but to look at him. “ **THE ONLY REASON YOU HAVE THIS BLASTED PLACE, IS BECAUSE I _ALLOW_   YOU TO HAVE IT**!”His hand squeezed a little tighter, fingers curling slightly against the soft flesh of her cheeks. “You’re _mine_ until _I_ say you’re not, understand?!”

The sting of his hand across her face radiated through the very bones. Just like always, the same lines ran through her head. 


	7. Chapter 7

The lock clicked shut behind him and he let out a heavy sigh; typical Harley. He knew she would follow, just maybe not through the door. That much he’d expected. “Feisty,” he muttered. Forever keeping him on his toes. A sharp sigh through his nose as he made his way back to the street level and a brisk walk around the back of the building was in order. He wasn’t a chaser, and he would do _no_ such thing now, but Harley was of the predictable sort,. The prey, making her last hopeful dash at freedom.  
  
Slinking into the shadows he watched as she shimmied out the window and scaled the fire escape, eyes alert and scanning the empty alleyway, for him no doubt. Stupid girl…. he moved quicker than that. She picked a direction, lucky for him coming right his way. So he waited, silently, until she breezed past, fear still very apparent on her sweet face. He fell in step behind her, still silently, following for a few paces before he finally spoke. 

“Going somewhere, pet?” A couple quick strides put him in front of her again, hoping to see that last sliver of hope fade from her pretty blue eyes. Harley felt her heart stop in her chest. It literally plummeted, and she thought she might be sick. As much as she hated it, or loved it, even she was confused, the fact was that Joker understood her. Better than she understood herself, certainly. Out of the two of him she was the trained psychiatrist... though she supposed it was possible he could have been one as well. He knew everything about her, but not once had he ever opened up about his past, and she learned a long time ago not to ask.

“Harley, Harley, Harley…” he shook his head, again patting her now bruised cheek with his hand. “You didn’t think it was going to be _that_ easy, did you? A duck out the window and down the fire escape before you slipped through my fingers?” Eyes falling on the baseball bat clutched in one hand, gun in the other; a grin splitting his lips apart, exposing a mouth full of teeth.

His hand on her delicate, damaged flesh was gentler than she anticipated, and she winced despite the tenderness. The smile though, that devilish grin set her insides to melting. Damnit but she would not let him seduce her with those shiny teeth and glinting eyes. She was stronger than that... smarter than that. Wasn't she?   
  
“Oh Harley…” A low chuckle starting in the back of his throat before bubbling up past his lips. “What do you plan to do with those?” He asked, taunting her as he took a step forward. “ _Kill_ me?” Another sinister chuckle. “You don’t have the guts.” He didn’t take the gun from her, instead his slender fingers curled around her small wrist of the hand that held it, bringing the barrel to his own forehead, eyes locked on hers as he spoke. “Pull the trigger” he smirked “I dare you, Harley…go ahead, pull the trigger.”

The smile she could resist, but the laugh... Well that was almost her undoing. It rattled against her ribcage, like her own heart trying to escape and fly into his hands. Even her knees weakened, and she visibly _swayed_  towards him as he invaded her personal bubbly, gripping her wrist just that little too hard. Even when he was trying to be gentle, he always bruised her a little there. She had delicate wrists, tiny bones like a bird. She tried to hold her composure as she stared into his beautiful eyes, tried to focus on the feelings she had escaped the Asylum with. That hurt, that betrayal.

The media often portrayed her as just as villainous as the man at the end of her gun barrel. Someone who murdered for fun, but it just wasn't true. Not really. She wasn't even insane, she had the paperwork to prove it. Her only hangup was the smirking green haired monster in front of her. With a crook of his finger, he could get her to do just about anything. What inside her was just that weak?

She couldn't do it, not staring into his handsome face. Not with the heat of his body penetrating her spandex clad figure, reminding her that she'd been locked up for 


	8. Chapter 8

Watching his girl struggle was half the fun, she wouldn’t pull the trigger, she didn’t have the guts. When her eyes closed, he chuckled softly to himself, she couldn’t even look him in the eye and do it. Pathetic.   
  
That tiny wrist was still clasped in his fingers when the click reached his ears. Not once, not twice, but _four_ times. Apparently she had learned a thing or two…  
  
Her eyes instantly filled with fear, her nervousness even more obvious than it had been before. “ _Now puddin’…_ ”  
  
Clenching his jaw, he didn’t even so much as flinch. Puddin’…he hated that nickname, god knows where in hell she’d come up with such a preposterous thing, it was anybody’s guess really. A part of him thought seriously about choking the life out of her right then and there in the alleyway. Surprisingly, a very _small_ part… Instead, he did what he, the Joker, does best.   
  
He laughed.   
  
A deep throaty laugh, eyes _never_ leaving Harley’s. He laughed. That glorious, mad crescendo that shot through her veins like wildfire, lighting up her nerve endings and battering against the last bulwarks of her fabricated resistance. How he did it would always be a mystery to her. Maybe it was some kind of weird, tonal hypnosis or something, but she was already too far gone to delve into /that/ line of thought.  
  
“Have I taught you _nothing_ , stupid girl?” He asked, lowering her wrist and in turn the gun. “If you’re going to _shoot_ someone, you make sure the gun is _loaded_!” She wasn't stupid, damnit. She was a brilliant doctor with a Ph.D, not that anyone ever remembered that. The Joker always knew how to kick a body when they were down. Spinning her head and then darting in with a dig. Putting her in her place, reminding her what she really was to him... Only...   
  
He sighed, reaching to twist one of Harley’s pigtails in his fingers. “Harley…” he spoke, his voice low and sultry, one he reserved _especially_ for her. “Come now, puddin’, don’t you want to come home?” He asked, stroking the bruise on her cheek with the back of his hand, “Where you belong, hmmm?”   
  
He dropped his hand, eyes trained on the small blonde.

The bastard had to follow it up with that gentleness. She knew, in the rational part of her brain, that he was just reeling her back in again. Trapping her in that web of empty promises that he always laid out, and she always fell for it like the nayfish she bloody well was. With his fingers twisted in her hair she wanted to believe so hard that it physically hurt, in a way he could never achieve with fists and the creative application of hardware store equipment he was known for. She needed to belong so bad, needed, not wanted. He made her feel... normal.  
  
“Don’t tell me you would rather stay…  _here_ ,” he gestured over his shoulder towards the dingy building she’d come from. “Alone… you never know what could happen… being here all by yourself… it could take them weeks to find you, pet, and when they do…” He paused briefly studying her face. “Who’s going to care, Harley?” That sinister smile found a place on his lips once more. “You’re a criminal,. The people of Gotham will thank their lucky stars there’s just one less to worry about. It would make no difference _when_ I choked the life out of you, my dear," His voice went hard again. "But mark my words, I _will_ be the one to do it, when I see fit and I’ll do it with a smile my pet… You wouldn’t be missed, why not come home where you’re loved?”

He ground out his threats, painting the picture of her life, and she knew it was true. No one would miss her. No one had come to visit her in Arkham. No one had wondered where she was while she was gone. Why would it be any different? She could have been dead. Even he hadn't sprung her out... But at least he'd come to fetch her. Sure, her antics might have been the impetus, but he could have just sent goons. Instead, he'd come himself. Made it personal.

It was always personal between them, no matter what he might think.

The smallest whimper escaped her lips, defeat crashing through her eyes as she folded like a cheap paper bag in a rainstorm. "Y-you're right, Mistah J." She sniffled, rubbing her watery eyes with the back of one hand. How hadn't she seen it before? She always went back to him, because he was the only one who ever truly /noticed/ her.

"I'm s-sorry I made ya c-come all the way out here. I... I just wanna go home." Her lip trembled, a sob catching on her breath. Guilt clawed at her insides, and still she wouldn't allow herself to cry. Not here. Not now. Not in front of him.


	9. Chapter 9

“Oh, come now, Harley,” He tutted patting her cheek. “Of course I’m right.” He scoffed with a small laugh and shake of his head, as if there were any question. Of _course_  he was right, otherwise that little brat would have been halfway across the state by now. He walked a few paces ahead before he turned again on his heel to face her, reaching for her guns, first the one in her hand, followed by the one holstered in the front of her waistband. “I’ll just keep these safe,” He smiled before giving her a peck on the cheek; the last thing he needed after coming all the way out here to collect her was for her to get smart, load her gun and shoot him in the back with it.  
  
It’s what he would do, and he’d taught her well. Her running away though, that had been something he still hadn’t quite wrapped his head around yet.  _He_  had created her, _he_ had molded her in _his_ image; and this was the thanks he got, having to come _all_ the way out here, and for what? To have her (try to) literally  _shoot_ him in the face for it?!  
  
Unbelievable.  
  
_Harley Quinn_ was a household name. **Because** of him. No one _cared_ about Dr Harleen Quinzel; and the ones that did, well, they were just dumber than your average human, hadn’t heard the story. “Oh, you don’t know?!” They would whisper, as if hearing of crime in the streets of Gotham was something taboo. “Joker drove her completely mad she goes by Harley Quinn these days, absolute nutcase, that one.” No one ever spoke of the hopeful young intern who thought she could study the worst of the worst cases in the bunch; and come away completely unscathed.  
  
Foolish girl.  
  
He’d had her pegged right from the start, hopeful, eager, and stupid. Very, _very_ stupid. He spent an afternoon cooking up the sob story he’d feed the new intern when she inevitably asked for the chance to “study” him. He guessed as much that his status in the asylum had set him apart from the others for her.  
  
Lucky him.  
  
Driven her mad… he had done nothing of the sort, and would execute anyone who said otherwise. The foolish girl had bitten off _far_ more than she could chew and he simply seized an opportunity. Her being driven mad was of her own devices, her one bad day, of which he had just happened to be the focal point. _Regardless_  of what had or hadn’t happened, who and where she was _today_  had been _completely_  his doing and the ungrateful brat showed no appreciation whatsoever.  
  
Again, he turned on his heel, walking a pace or two ahead, expecting her to follow and this time, she would. He hadn’t taken her bat, she wouldn’t be so stupid as to actually get within striking distance; and if she had been, she’d better make it good because one would be all she’d get. He didn’t speak, just made his way back up to the mouth of the alley where he’d left the junk heap of a car; one he planned to torch _promptly_ upon his arrival back home. He didn’t hear her tiny footfalls behind him, but kept the observation to himself, if she chose _not_ to follow, there would be even worse hell to pay.  
  
It was all up to her.

She accepted the patted cheeks and chaste brushes of lips over bruised flesh as what they were. Appeasing motions by a man who considered her little more than a pet. So many thought she was a complete fool, that she didn't see it, the way he looked at her. But she wasn't a stupid woman, far from it.

The thing was... so much of her life was better with Joker than it had been without it. She didn't have to work twice as hard as everyone around her to get half the notice. No cheap polyester suit skirts or fake glasses so they'd think that maybe she wasn't completely an idiot even though she was blonde. She let it all go, became what he wanted.

There was affection between them. Maybe he didn't love her the way she did him, maybe he wasn't even capable of it, but he certainly cared for her more than he'd ever cared for anyone else. Never mind that nonsense with Batsy. That wasn't love, that was obsession. If he ever got the cowl of the big scowling moron the fun would go right out of it for him. Funny thing was, Harls was almost sure that she'd narrowed down who the big B could be. The kind of cash required, and the physique behind the padding, it had to at least involve either the Waynes, the Elliots or the Dickersons. Not that she'd ever offered that information to J.

No no, she wasn't here for her brains, he'd made that pretty darn clear when he tried to scramble them. He'd been so careful, feeding her his sad story, setting her up for her own One Bad Day. Who really was the fool here? She hadn't spiraled into madness through his schemes, she'd fallen in love with the depth behind his eyes, his dark but gleeful humour, and that panty-melting laugh.

That was the real joke behind her time in Arkham. She wasn't insane, not really. She only acted it to please him, and because it was expected. They loved her crazy and a bit dumb, and in the end, wasn't love more important than success? Why change the world when you can shine at the centre of someone else's?

Still... Things had to change, at least a little. If she didn't lay down the law here and now, it would all go back to the same. Life wasn't any fun if he wasn't going to pay attention to her. Why bother with the act if there wasn't an audience, after all? That was what this had all been about, in the end. Placing herself back squarely in the centre of his field of vision, no matter what that entailed. She could handle the rough stuff as long as he /saw/ her.

She watched his retreating back, bolstering her courage, and ensuring that he was far enough away so she had an escape if she lost her cool. Slowly she lowered the bat to the ground, resting it there as quietly as possible.

Two guns. He'd only taken two.

Holding her breath she eased the third gun from the waistband at her back. Cocky bastard, thought he knew her, did he? We'd see who was playing who. The tears, the contrition, they were all gone now, though there was still that delicious undercurrent of fear that always accompanied interacting with the devilishly attractive Clown Prince of Crime.

The alley was quiet, quiet enough for him to hear her not following, that was for sure, but that suited what was about to happen just fine. She had a point to make, after all. With her free hand she spun the chamber on the Beretta Stampede, a rather ridiculous revolver for a woman, but one that made a rather impressive clicking whir. Jerking the cylinder into place she smacked the hammer and let out a single shot, sending the bullet whizzing by Joker's head. Closer than she intended, truth be told, but then she had closed her eyes again.

"Th-this one's loaded." She offered, the tremble in her voice finally evening out for a bit of strength. "I ain't comin' back just so's ya can go back ta ignorin' me Mistah J. I'm a fragile lady, I need attention ta flourish, an' ya just ain't been providin' lately."

The nasty little voice in the back of her head was telling her how ridiculous she sounded, and warning her exactly how badly this would go if J took it the wrong way, but she'd committed herself now. Maybe she _was_ crazy after all, or at least a little bit stupid.


	10. Chapter 10

The disgusting calm quiet of the alleyway set him on edge, he wasn’t big on silence, it made things difficult. His ears perked up at the familiar click, click, click of the unmistakable Beretta…..Harley’s Beretta… Well shit…the kid had the guts after-  
  
The bullet whizzed past his head, if he’d been a mere half an inch to the side it would have buried itself in the back of his skull. When she was able to stand again, he’d have to teach her how to aim. Couldn’t have a lousy shot if it was his life hanging in the balance at the hands of the Bat. He hadn’t been sure about the first part, but the last bit of what she’d said nearly made him laugh out loud. Fragile she most definitely was not, he’d proven that once or twice. She put up a fight, that was half the fun after all...

What the hell, he was in a particularly giving mood this evening, he would humour the girl. Turning back around to face her at the far end of the alley, he made his way back to where she stood, gun still raised as he walked, not in much of a rush. He kept an even pace until once again he stood in front of her. His eyebrows raised slightly noticing the new spark in her eyes…courage? She felt on top of the world that she’d been able to pull off her little stunt. She hadn’t pulled it off though, if she had he’d be splayed at the other end of the alleyway in a pool of his own blood.   
  
She had missed.  
  
On purpose perhaps? Not likely.   
  
“You couldn’t betray me while looking me in the eye could you?” A smirk slithered across his lips. Whether or not she told the truth, he knew what it was. “You had to wait until I had my back turned to pull the trigger.” He laughed “I told you, you haven’t got the guts.” He had run out of patience, he was done playing her little game, he had let her have her fun. None too gently, even by his standards, he grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her down the alley back towards the road and the car home.

Watching him approach she wished more than anything she had the strength to unload the barrel into him, but she was so damn weak. Every time she went to pull the trigger, she just saw his beautiful face destroyed, that chaotic fire quenched... How could she be the one to end that? He was awful; a menace, a cruel and abusive lover, but he was  _hers_. Her puddin'. Her tormentor and her reason for being. He'd looked past the ambition and the fear and seen something worth keeping; he who had a reputation for treating everyone as disposable. Of everyone, he'd kept _her_. She'd survived him this long on that alone, hadn't she? She should have taken the shot, damnit. Why did she have to love the beast? Maybe because she'd seen sides of him that most wouldn't believe existed. The madness, and under it all, the heart-breaking sanity. Not that he'd shown her such things, she was simply more observant than anyone ever gave her credit for, him included.

As he wrenched her wrist, dragging her along. It took almost all her focus to keep a grip on her beloved Beretta. She loved that damn gun almost as much as she loved him, after all, and she wasn't going to lose it now. She set her feet in the ground, trying to brace herself, get enough of a hold to break his grip, but he was implacable. An object in motion and all that, besides he was just so much bigger than her. It wasn't fair, really. How could a gal make a stand when her opponent turned her head AND could toss her about like a ragdoll? So she was dragged unceremoniously off to her fate, cursing vividly in Yiddish as they went. At least he couldn't figure out exactly what she was threatening to do to him this way. He'd probably just laugh anyway. The momzer.

“Next time I won’t give you the option to shoot a second time, Harley, mark my words; pull a stunt like this one again and you won’t live to tell a damned soul about it.” Keeping himself in check had been incredibly more difficult than he’d anticipated, he was never one for doing such things, patience and order were not his forte. He prided himself on being exactly the opposite. Unfortunately, drawing attention to himself while out in public wasn’t something very high on his to do list. He’d already been out longer than he’d liked and it was _her_ fault; her fault that he had to be out at all; something she’d pay for.  
  
She wanted more attention…he’d show her attention.   
  
Her punishment would take some thinking. “Ignored,” he laughed to himself before yanking open the passenger side door and practically throwing her into the seat. “You don’t know the meaning of the word, pet.” Another sinister cackle escaped him as he slammed the door again, not really caring one way or the other if she’d managed to get into the car completely. “I’ll give you ignored, sweets…”

She tumbled into the car, a tangle of limbs and long blonde hair, muffled cursing escaping her face as she did a header into the upholstery. She reached out to try to push herself off into a better position, and two things happened. One, J slammed the door of the car; Two, she let out an ear-piercing screech. She couldn't even move properly to investigate the damage, half sprawled over the seat the way she was, with her hand... Oh her poor precious hand. She felt the blood start to trickle over the delicate skin, bones shifting way out of place as the vehicle door clicked shut around her flesh. Whimpering she tugged, but that only made it worse and she screamed again.

Tears ran down her cheeks. She didn't have a lot of options here... But asking J for help didn't seem like a great idea at the moment... Still, what could she possibly do? She tried to get her knees between the seat and her stomach to give herself some leverage, but the bones in her hand did that grating popping thing that was more felt than heard so she froze. The world was conspiring against her. She was sure of it. Just when she was shaking free of it all, it dumped her back at his mercy without so much as a by-your-leave. With his mercurial moods, he was just as likely to leave her there as set her free. "M-Mistah J...? P-puddin'?"

She sniffled, choking back a sob. "C-could ya open tha door again for a second? I s-swear I'll not do nothin' stupid, b-but my h-hand is caught..." She was crying now, couldn't hold it in. So much for Harleen Quinzel's moment of independence. Her voice was muffled from where it was pressed into the back of the seat and her butt was up in the air like some kind of idiot. Nothing ever went her way. Not when he was around at least.


	11. Chapter 11

That blood curdling scream he had come to simultaneously love and hate in the same breath, filled the small space of the car. What could she possibly have to scream about, he hadn’t even _done_ anything yet; nothing worth screaming like _that_ over. Usually hearing her cry set him on edge, he hated hearing it, wanted no part of it. None.   
  
But _being_ the cause of her tears, that stirred something, yet again, in the pit of his stomach; something that caused his top row of teeth to find the flesh of his bottom lip. Watching the small blonde struggle while also trying to keep her, what he could only assume was searing pain, to a minimum made him chuckle with amusement.   
She had never been one to beg, not that she had necessarily been _begging_ now perse… Maybe he would wait for her to get to that point; the first of many breaking points. If he hadn’t needed to stay out of sight of old Batsy, he might just entertain the idea. Something he’d file away for a later day.  
  
Instead, he wrenched the door open again, just long enough to release the now mangled limb before slamming the door closed a second time. Stupid girl… maybe this would teach her to pay more attention. Again, not likely. Putting himself behind the wheel of the clunker, leaving her to sob and carry on in the passenger seat, or whatever the hell else she felt the need to do, he drove straight through town, not particularly caring _who_  got a good look, back to the hideout. Going after her had set him back a great deal in his planning stages and she’d pay severely for that on top of everything else; the list just kept growing, and seemingly not in her favour.   
  
She should have known better.   
  
“Harley, Harley, Harley…” he tutted, clicking his tongue as he put the car in park. “What am I supposed to do with you, hmmm?” For the first time since back in the alleyway, his eyes trained on the fragile, seemingly already broken woman. “Making me come and _fetch_ you from across town, and then trying to _kill_ me for such an act of graciousness.” He laughed lightly at the not so distant memory. His hand shot out in a flash, pale fingers curling around the damn gun she loved so much, all in the same swift movement, turning himself in the seat to face her more directly, barrel of the gun pointed right between those pretty blue eyes.  
  
“I should just kill you here and now, be done with it.” Smile splitting his lips in a sinister grin, eyes never leaving hers, not even a blink or a flutter. “All my problems would disappear with nothing but a click.” He whispered, almost lovingly, finger tapping the trigger gently before coming to a rest.   
  
“A single click.”

Once she'd had her hand freed, Harley had retreated into herself, nursing the injury as quietly as she could. Thinking. Planning. J was a smart fella, and no matter what she had to be prepared. He'd been exceedingly generous, for him, helping her get her hand freed. Something else on his side of the tally. That was never a safe thing to start stockpiling. Red in the ledger tended to come out in red from other places. As she cupped her shattered hand, her good thumb ran across a scar along the base of her wrist. Not every game they played had been fun.

The way he said her name always gave her the chills, regardless of the circumstances. His voice trickled over it like an indulgent parent, brought to the edge of reason, but not quite tipped over yet. There was something deeply sensual about that fine edge between love and hate. Maybe it was because he  _was_ emoting. Say what you wanted about J, but he wasn't a sociopath. He emoted. He cared. Maybe he didn't want to, but she'd gotten under his skin. She could feel it, taste it. It was there in every breath she took. Nobody but her could live through the crapped she pulled with him. Maybe that's why she kept doing it.

She had a few things she wouldn't mind him doing with her, but she knew better than to voice any kind of opinion right now. Besides, she wasn't sure even that would take her mind off the injury she'd gotten herself. Oh she knew full well she was to blame for it, no sense trying to pin it on him. It was her fault. She'd put her hand there. She'd forced him to drag her to the car in the first place. She'd forced him to come fetch her. Nothing he was saying was wrong. It was always her fault. Stupid, stupid girl.

What took her aback was the the chill barrel of her beloved Beretta as he settled it between her still-watery eyes. "M-Mistah J?" Despite the risks inherent in such behaviour, she offered the slightest, quavery query. Maybe she'd gone too far this time. Maybe she'd pushed him over that line. It was a chance she always took, though she always figured it'd be better to be killed by her puddin' than forgotten about... right?

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, blue eyes meeting green, concern wrinkling the skin beneath the gun barrel. "I know I ain't done whatcha wanted, but... ya nevah came ta break me outta Arkham. I figgered ya din't wanna see me or sommat. Sometimes ya get in those moods... right? An' it ain't like I was shacking up with Red or nuthin'. Maybe ya came an' got me cuz ya needed me for somethin'? If so, wouldn't pullin' that triggah do ya plans more harm?"

Maybe she wasn't smart, not nearly smart enough by half, but she'd spent that car ride wracking her brain for something, anything to keep herself alive. Ask him questions. Engage. Flatter the man. If she dug around enough she'd find her puddin' in that mess of psychosis. He had come to get her after all. "I'm sure ya nevah dragged me all tha way back here just ta kill me when it would have been easieah to do back where I was. You're way too smart fah that." Dear God but let him take the bait.


	12. Chapter 12

She rambled on, desperately trying to spare her own life; he had to give credit where credit was due, she could talk circles when she wanted to, but in typical Harley fashion, like he knew she would, she pushed just a little _too_ far. Never came to break her out of Arkham, as if it was _his_ fault that she had been put there in the first place? Moods? What moods? Is that what she called biting his tongue, holding his temper? Not blowing her away on the street like he should have done in the first place?   
Then like clockwork, she pushed a little more… 

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…  
  
“Oh no, sweets,” he laughed again with a shake of his head, gun still poised. “There’s always a method to my madness. Alleys cause nothing but problems and questions; I shoot you here… where you’re _supposed_ to be and no one bats an eye.” He lowered the gun just enough to glare into her blue eyes without obstruction. “As for _plans_ I have yet to come up with something _decent_ since I’ve done nothing but chase _you_ around this blasted city!” He barked “You’re not here because I _need_ or _want_ you here, _Harleen_ , you’re here on nothing but pure dumb luck that I haven’t changed my mind and splattered your brains across the windshield!” Truth be told, and he’d never admit it, especially not to her, he _did_ need her, that much had been proven on the days she’d been off gallivanting like a child.   
  
Instead, he sighed, opening the driver’s side door, one foot on the pavement, gun still in hand before aiming a mere few inches to the right of her little blonde pigtail and pulling the trigger, sending the bullet through the passenger side window over her shoulder. “Never assume, my pet…” he spoke in a soft even tone as the last echoes of the shot rang through the air. “Next time, I won’t miss.” Without so much as a glance over his shoulder, he exited the car, leaving the door open as he went. “And get rid of that damned thing…”

What did it say about her that she didn't flinch when he shot at her, but she did when he called her Harleen? Nothing good, she was certain. It wasn't the first time, and even if it was... what did it matter? If that's what he wanted to do, he'd do it eventually. Shoot her... not call her Harleen. He only did that when she'd been particularly vexing. Odd, wasn't it? When she had exhausted his patience, he'd give her identity back. It was just another sign that everything he did was manipulation. Even showing his disapproval was one more way of trapping her closer to him. If her own identity was negatively associated in her head, she'd shy away from it.

Of course, understanding what he was doing didn't make her fall for it any less. Oh no, that would be way too easy. Sometimes she wondered how she let this all get so far. As she sidled into the driver's seat, slamming it into gear to take the ugly hunk of junk out of J's sight, she thought about it all. She'd thought herself so smart. He'd opened up to her, showed enough emotion to get her hooked, and then she'd learned that just because you know what's happening doesn't mean it can't catch you. She'd rolled over like some kinda idiot, letting all those twisty half-truths into her head until she'd wound up just where he wanted her. Wasn't that always what happened?

She'd made it a few blocks away, where she usually dumped stuff J didn't want anymore... a threatening voice reminded that she'd end up here one day, but she pushed it away. Fingers, both whole and mangled, tapped an angry, erratic staccato on the steering wheel. Part of her struggled against the urge to just keep on driving. Say screw it to J, Gotham, and the whole affair. Surely there was someplace out there that would appreciate the cards she brought to the table.

With a sigh she put it in park and slid out of the vehicle, tossing the keys on the seat and leaving the door empty. Despite the unusually high number of Bats-per-capita, there was enough street crime that an unattended vehicle with the keys in it wouldn't go unnoticed. She had a feeling the local gang, too small to risk challenging J, often picked up their leftovers and used them for their own purposes. Good on them, real economical and all that jazz.

She trudged back home to J. Dawdling as much as she dared. His mood was already off, and she didn't want to raise his ire again, not so soon. Not when she hadn't been punished for the last set of disobedience yet. Stockpiling punishments just let J get more creative, and there were aspects of that devilishly clever brain that you never wanted set against you. Still, she took a lot longer to get back than necessary, slipping in the door and heading straight for her room. She wanted her things... particularly her first aid kit.

Like a naughty kid sneaking in after curfew, she held her breath in hopes that it made her quieter. If she could just get this bandaged, set the shattered bones, she'd be more ready to handle J's ... well ... whatever he had planned. She cursed herself silently, she probably should have taken the time to do it before she came back, but she was already pushing on half an hour, and her puddin' weren't never a patient fella, no matter what he told himself when he looked in the mirror.


	13. Chapter 13

Without much of a care, he ambled inside as Harley drove off to dispose of one problem, while he thought about what to do with the other… Maybe calling her a “problem” had been a little harsh, but how else would she learn? He couldn’t have her thinking she could just pull stunts like this and there would be no consequences. That just wouldn’t do. He still hadn’t figured out quite what to do with her yet, something that would make her think twice about acting in such a way again.  
  
First stop, her bedroom to fetch the first aid kit she’d kept there, it would be the first thing she’d come looking for when she returned and he’d be damned if she wasn’t going to have to come to him to get it. He tossed the small kit on the already over cluttered table unceremoniously before sitting down with a huff. He had hoped this damn plans would sort themselves out while he’d been off play fetch the jester, or at the very least manipulate themselves in a way that didn’t require _her_ as a distraction. Unfortunately he’d had no such luck, still a disaster.   
  
“I couldn’t kill her even if I wanted to…” he muttered before rolling his eyes. Of course he could kill her, it would just mean finding a _new_ distraction and _that_ took more work and effort than it was worth. The faintest squeak of an opening door caught his attention, a quick glance at the clock on the wall as he listened harder. Half an hour she’d been gone to get rid of that piece of junk. What the hell had taken her so long?   
  
She was a gymnast, which made her light on her feet, but it also was something he had become accustomed to; listening for her feather light footfalls as she slinked around the hideout. She was trying to be sneaky, play it off like she’d been her three times as long as she actually had. He could hear the excuses now…  _I’ve been home for ages, puddin’, got distracted, y’know…_ Distracted with what he’d ask, pretending to care, humouring the naïve girl. Knowing full well she was trying to pull a fast one and had subsequently gotten caught in the act.

That mangled hand of hers had left her in a great deal of pain, he had no doubts about this, and that meant the first thing she’d come looking for would have been the very kit sitting a foot to his left. How she had planned to spin that to work in her favour after trying to slip in unnoticed, intrigued him. She was never one to admit a wrong doing unless backed into a corner, and she always forced him to back her into a corner… He moved the kit closer, resting an arm on top and waited for her to make her dreaded appearance.

She darn near pulled her whole room apart looking for the first aid kit. She was sure she'd left it just there under the sink, but her search turned up nothing. She bit her lip, tapping a foot in worry. Where could it possibly have gotten to? Making a small frustrated noise she shot a glare at the door. HE wouldn't have... would he? She snorted, stomping a foot. Of course he would have. Well she already had to get dangerously close to begging when she'd got her hand stuck, she wasn't quite ready to go crawling a second time. He was lucky she'd come back at all.

Grumbling she went digging through his closet, hers was looking particularly empty these days. In the back she found an old Hawaiin print shirt, a hideous thing with palm trees across the front. Surely he wouldn't wear something as tacky as that, he probably wouldn't even miss it. Tugging a knife out from under the mattress she cut the shirt into strips, winding them tightly around her damaged hand to stabilize the injury. She still needed some painkillers, but at least she could think now.

Stopping to examine herself in the mirror, she sighed. There really was no putting it off any longer. She was going to have to face the music, and it was best to meet it head on than make him come fetch her out again. She gave the bed a wistful sigh. She'd rather just pull the blankets over her head and hope he forgot, but J never forgot. It was one of the things she loved about him... and hated about him too.

Keeping her steps light, he hated when she stomped or dragged her feet, she made her way back to the main room where J had taken up residence. Quick blue eyes noted that he did, in fact, have her first aid kit. The jerk. She wanted to say something, she should say something... No she shouldn't. That was stupid. A bad idea. Oh she was going to do it anyway, wasn't she?

"I shoulda known ya had my kit tha' whole time. I near tore tha whole room apart lookin' fah it, puddin'." She tried to keep her voice casual, unconcerned. Play it off like this was just any other day, any other exchange between the two of them. She'd had worse ideas, not many, but there had been worse ones. "Wouldja mind tossin' me a pack o' painkillers? I got mah hand all wrapped up, but tha throbbin' is distractin' me somethin' fierce."

She offered him a brilliant, charming smile; head tilted to one side, batting those long lashes. Oh she was a dumb, dumb, dumb, girl. Still, when you were down and out, all you had was the game, when it came to this man. The trick was figuring out if you played it well enough. At least she wasn't boring, right?


	14. Chapter 14

A sharp sigh escaped through his nose as the nickname she’d donned him with fell on his ears, yet again. He hated that damn nickname. Painkillers, after making him wait _this_ long, she wanted painkillers. A laugh started low in the back of his throat as thumbs popped open the plastic clips keeping the case shut, eyes never leaving hers.   
  
“I’ll bet it just feels something awful, doesn’t it, cupcake?” he asked, with a pout before digging through the small box to find what he wanted. Slender fingers curled around the small orange bottle before he popped the lid off with his thumb, sending the small white cap bouncing across the desk and onto the floor.   
  
“It’s interesting y’know,” he continued, dumping the pills on the desktop, lightly fingering each one. “The things we’ll do when we want something bad enough…wouldn’t you say, Harls?” he asked, rhetorically as his eyes fell back on her. He didn’t wait for a response, didn’t care to hear one if she’d had it. Instead, with a sweep of his hand, brushed the pills to the floor at his feet… Every. Last. One.   
  
“Pain will do funny things, pet.” As he spoke, he moved his foot just enough to crush a cluster of pills with the toe of his boot. “Makes you think you _need_ something when in fact you only _want_ -“ He paused when eyes fell on her little homemade wrap… out of his shirt… tThat was _his_ shirt. His _favourite_ shirt… that wasn’t purple… He clenched his jaw, careful not to lose his cool just yet, she was expecting him to blow is top, that’s why she hadn’t moved from just inside the door, keeping her escape route close.  
  
“Come here…” He finished instead, taking care to crush the remainder of the painkillers on the floor under his feet with an all too satisfying crunch. “You’ve wrapped yourself up all wrong, precious…” He patted the corner of the desktop, indicating she should sit. “Let puddin’ fix you up, hmmm?” He hated the nickname, yes, but the one advantage it had, the _one_ way it worked in his favour, was trust, it had her eating out of the palm of his hand, just the one simple single solitary word. "I’ll make it all better…”

It took every scrap of willpower in the jester's arsenal to not leap forward when the Joker poured the painkillers out. She just knew that this was going to end poorly for her. She swallowed the cry of dismay when he began to crush them beneath his boot. That's what he wanted, a reaction, a sign of her pain. She wouldn't give it. He couldn't force it from her... Well he could, but it would take a heck of a lot more than that.

Though his gentle tone and affectionate words tugged at her heartstrings, she knew better than to trust the mercurial madman. She ached for his feigned sincerity, but she knew the truth behind it. Something was bubbling in that brilliant brain of his, something that would likely be unpleasant for her. She had to weigh her options... what would end up being, in the end, the less painful? Obedience. She had to be his bubbly blonde bimbo and hope for the best. At least that might appease his rage a little.

Biting her lip she looked down at her badly bandaged hand, tracing little hearts on the floor with the tip of her shoe. She loved when he called her cupcake, it sent warm fuzzies right through her, muddled up her thinking and making her dumb. How much of that was influencing her choices here? Did it matter? They both knew he always won these little exchanges. Harleen Quinzel had been a loser most of her life, that wasn't going to change because she was the Clown's right hand wench, now was it?

So she painted a big dumb smile, filling her eyes right up to the brim with trust and bounded across the room to perch on the edge of her puddin's desk. She offered the wrapped hand to him with a pout. "I gotta admit, Mistah J, I just ain't that good at this one handed."


End file.
